


Lace

by orithea



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crossdressing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-25
Updated: 2013-08-25
Packaged: 2017-12-24 15:21:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/941504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orithea/pseuds/orithea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It takes a moment to parse—not because John’s unfamiliar with this particular sensation against his fingertips, but because it’s not one that he’s ever even remotely considered putting into context with Sherlock.</p>
<p>“Is that lace?” John asks. His voice is hushed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lace

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this (nsfw) gif](http://forsciencejohn.tumblr.com/post/59155536981/john-getting-a-lapdance-from-sherlock) and talking dirty with Meg and Thea.

The first time that it happens it catches John completely off guard.

Not the part where he has a lap full of Sherlock Holmes. That he’s beginning to get rather used to.

The part where, when he unbuttons Sherlock’s trousers and slides his hand down, past the fabric stretched taut across Sherlock’s hips as he kneels astride John’s thighs, he meets an unexpected texture.

It takes a moment to parse—not because John’s unfamiliar with this particular sensation against his fingertips, but because it’s not one that he’s ever even remotely considered putting into context with Sherlock.

“Is that lace?” John asks. His voice is hushed.

“Mmm,” Sherlock rumbles, and leans down to rub his face against the curve of John’s jaw. The scratch of stubble against stubble echoes the texture of Sherlock’s pants and makes John’s cock go impossibly harder. “Black lace. Would you like to see?”

“ _Yes_.”

Sherlock straightens up, knees still planted in John’s chair, and pushes his trousers down just far enough for John to see the tops of a pair of black stockings held up by a suspender belt overtop the lace of his pants. The lace is sheer, sheer enough for John to see the curve of Sherlock’s cock where it’s held stiff and slightly to the side by the confines of the fabric, flushed head peeking just past the foreskin.

“I’ve worn them all day,” Sherlock says, “hoping that you would notice. As always you see but you do not—”

“Oh, shut it.” John pulls Sherlock closer, presses their mouths together hungrily. When Sherlock breaks away his composure has slipped; he looks kiss-dizzied and heavy-lidded, running his own tongue over his bottom lip slowly as though savoring every trace of John.

“Do you want to see more?”

John hopes that the strangled noise that escapes him is answer enough.

Sherlock removes himself from John’s lap, somehow managing to remain graceful even through his backwards slide, and quickly sheds his trousers and shirt. With the rest of Sherlock’s clothing off and his body turned away, John can see the way that the suspender belt is cinched at the narrowest part of Sherlock’s slim waist, accenting the long, sharp lines of Sherlock’s pale back and shoulders, dotted here and there with faint freckles. _The curves of your arse rewrite history_ , John’s mind supplies, and he’d say as much aloud if he didn’t suspect that Sherlock had long ago deleted Oscar Wilde. The stockings are—

“Silk,” Sherlock supplies. He lowers himself into John’s lap again, grinds back against him. “I could take them off. Wrap one around your cock and see how it feels to be wanked with the fabric sliding through my hand.”

“Don’t you dare,” John says, hands flying to grasp Sherlock’s waist and pull him against himself hard. “You’re going to keep them on, all of it, and I’m going to fuck you right here.”

Sherlock’s voice is all smug self-satisfaction. “Good. That was the plan all along.”

 


End file.
